Sit, Stay, Love: A Tale of Toronado: A Romantic Comedy Where the Dogs Know Best by ali macgee

Author:ali macgee [macgee , ali]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flower Power Press
Published: 2023-08-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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VAN LEANED BACK IN Mary’s Magic Chair and touched the button that turned it into reclining, spine-cradling, muscle-massaging heaven. He poured a nip from the brandy decanter at his elbow. It would complete the process of turning his bones into mush. If he had to be banished with Lancelot while Guinevere had her children, this was the place to be exiled to.

It was odd in this day and age. A hospital birthing room seemed to be an equal-opportunity observation gallery these days. They just about brought in the new mom’s fourth cousin twice removed.

Mary, however, was reading a historical romance in which they packed the husband off with a flask of brandywhilehiswifewasgivingbirth.Sheseemedto have taken it seriously in her planning for this event. Andabigpartofherplanhadobviouslybeentokeep Van out of the way. He had to admit he wasn’t sure he’d want himself in the way if he were in charge of this project.

He’d tried to lock Lancelot up here, then go back to where the action was. If the father wasn’t there, surely the grandfather had to be. At first, Joe and Mary had just ordered him — did they have to be so vehement about it? — to back off. Then Van had started to feel labor pains along with Guinevere. Okay, maybe he’d felt them before she did. Maybe he’d yelped a little noisily when they hit. Maybe he’d been in the way a time or two when he doubled over with a really bad contraction.

He’d heard childbirth was painful. The subject had come up with Joe sometimes, somewhere around the ninth hole, when Joe was finally relaxing after a rough delivery. He swore his patients all said it was worth it. Van had never been sure about that. Joe wasn’t the one giving birth.

Was it as bad for dogs as for humans? Van had read of a Saint Bernard who gave birth to thirteen puppies in one go. Thank goodness the vet had said Guineverewouldproduceasmalllitter—maybehalf a dozen.

The prospect still made him so miserable he topped up his glass of brandy. It looked warm and rich and heady, even if he wasn’t much of a drinker. Maybe it would help with his labor pains.

Van glanced down at Lancelot. He was holding still for a change, curled in a miserable ball with his anguished muzzle resting on his little paws and his ears sagging in long puddles around him. Van knew the poor little man would be up again in another few minutes and back to pacing in a sad, slow trudge from one side of the room to the other.

Van wanted to express his sympathy to his fellow exile, but he couldn’t speak without choking up. His eyes were a little damp too. Some dust must be floating around. Everybody knows dust in the eye can make the manliest of men, well, tear up a bit, just because of the dust, you know.

Van cupped his hands around his eyes to fend off any errant speck of new eye irritation and leaned over the side of the chair.

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